


wishful thinking

by cowboytime (thegoatz)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Dutch, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, OH BOY THERES A LOT OF STUFF, Other, Suicidal Ideation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, also i guess?, and Yes i will bring it up in every convo i have, arthur looks after dutch and dutch looks after him, b4 anyone says anythign Yes the new south is my fave mission, hurt Arthur, i just. clenches fist. love arthur and dutch together, i made this to deal w hosea's death and im not. there in game yet but i am Not Ready, its more passive than active and its lik.e Barely there but. like . Is there, sprinkling of arthur with adhd bc of self projection babey, the book mentioned is the american inferno by evelyn whatever which you can find in camp, theres like. Too much self projection than i am comfortable with but we will ignore that, what of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoatz/pseuds/cowboytime
Summary: "It just ain't the same without him, Dutch," Arthur finally says.Dutch exhaled a quiet breath, his eyes almost boring a hole into the fabric of his tent as he mulls over Arthur's words. He doesn't reply; doesn't know if he could."It just... don't feel right."
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	wishful thinking

**Author's Note:**

> am not. entirely pleased with this but Ive been writing it for like. 6 days and just wanted it Done.
> 
> also this fic is lik.e loosely based on the song [ wishful thinking by kyd the band](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6A7yTcDYKVA)

Hosea's death hit Dutch hard.

It was like his life, everything he ever loved, was ripped right from his grasp, right in front of his eyes.

After it happened, Dutch didn't leave his tent for two days. He just sat there, alone, mulling over what happened. They all seemed content with letting him stay by himself and Dutch was glad. He doesn't know how he could bear to talk about him - and Dutch hates how he doesn't want to say his name because it hurts so much to think about how he couldn't save him. He feels like he's failed him, and it hurts more than he ever thought it would.

Hosea doesn't deserve this.

 _Didn't_ deserve it.

It's too late now.

And Dutch doesn't know how he'll ever be okay with that: that he was too late, not fast enough, not smart enough, not good enough.

The first night was the easiest. 

They all returned to camp after his death, silent, like if they said anything then the crushing weight of reality would smother them all to death. Dutch went straight to his tent, his face emotionless and no-one could tell if that was a bad thing or not.

He sat down in his chair and struck a match against the sole of his shoe to light a cigar, hoping he could smoke all his problems away, that it somehow could make him forget, even if deep down he knew that it couldn't. 

Dutch can't deny that he briefly thought about dropping the match right by his feet, he thought about the flames building up around him, swallowing everything down, him included. He thought about how easy it would be. He wonders what would happen if he let it happen. Would he get to see Hosea again? A second later he scoffs at the thought. Dutch has come to terms that despite everything he told himself, he wasn't a good man. Far from it actually. He was a bad man who did bad things to people who didn't deserve it. But Hosea... Hosea was one of the only good men amongst a whole world of horrible ones. Hosea was too good to go to hell where Dutch was destined to go. He chuckles lowly as he thinks about one of those romance novels that Mary-Beth just loves to read; wonders if maybe there's one about an angel and demon falling in love. A sharp pain in his fingers causes him to yelp as he drops the match, but it goes out before it hits the ground. He stares at the broken match on the floor until the minutes roll by, and eventually brings that cigar to his lips.

He takes a deep drag of the cigar, letting it corrupt his lungs.

He lets his eyes drift shut and lets his head drop back as he exhales.

Dutch wants to think about anything else but his death, but can't help it when his mind wanders back to the same point: that he'll never get to see him again.

He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream or yell or shout, he just feels bereft.

He pulls the cigar back to his mouth and breathes it in. He assumes that it's something to do with shock rather than any apathy and the way that his hands haven't stopped shaking as he holds the cigar just solidifies his point. He knows that he needs to come to terms with it, but at the same time he's so perfectly content to stay in his mindset of denial. It hurts less that way.

He knows that imagining that Hosea is just in his tent that short distance away, alive and breathing, will just hurt him more in the end but for now he's so perfectly content to live in that little lie.

It was the second night that was the hardest.

He hadn't left his tent all day. Hadn't eaten, or drank anything. Hell, the only sleep he'd gotten was when he passed out after his fourth straight cigar, eventually being jolted awake with a cold sweat making his clothes cling to his skin and a cry of Hosea's name on his lips.

All-day Dutch had half expected, half hoped, to see Hosea walk right those that tent flap, his heart racing and pounding when it opened suddenly, only to be replaced with crushing hopelessness when he sees Arthur there, asking him if he wanted food. Dutch politely denied it, of course, because he doesn't even know if he could keep any food down, and tries to ignore the sadness in Arthur's eyes. He should be there for him, and yet here he was, cowering away in his tent, and once again Dutch finds himself being glad for Arthur's existence, as he manages to keep the camp in order whilst undeniably dealing with his own grief. Dutch knows he never would have made it this far if not for him, and makes a mental note to thank him for it later.

But when the hours pass by and the realisation that Hosea wouldn't, couldn't come back, hit him faster than he thought it would, Dutch quickly found that cigars and cigarettes couldn't help to keep his thoughts at bay. So he turned to his good old friend. _Alcohol_. 

He always kept some spare whiskey bottles in his tent, and Dutch found that he couldn't help but crave it, needing something, anything, to dull the pain. He doesn't even bother to pour it into a glass: just drinking it straight from the bottle, and whilst the burn seared his throat, the lightheaded numbness it left feeling him with was all he needed. There was some sort of pitifulness about him at that moment that made him laugh until tears clouded his vision, so he drank more because just how much more tragic could he get? After the bottle was gone, and he was sat there feeling even more alone than before, he had a sudden awareness of just how much he fucked up. He would have laughed some more if he didn't feel so empty.

"Oh, _Hosea_ ," he sighed, not even realising he said it until his voice rang in his ears.

It was like hearing his name was the metaphorical straw on the camel's back because it suddenly hit him: the realisation that Hosea was gone, he was dead, that Dutch would never see him again. He desperately tries not to forget him: trying so desperately to cling to every detail of his face, his hair, his smile, his eyes, his hands, his _everything_. Dutch wants to forget everything but Hosea, and somehow he thinks that won't be too hard. He bets that he'll forget his own name before he forgets Hosea's, and he quickly decides that that just might not be a bad thing.

And whilst the good memories of Hosea fill him with the happiness he felt devoid of, there's a voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he's gone, and not surprisingly, that's the one thing about Hosea that Dutch doesn't want to remember. He wishes that he could talk to him, he wishes that he could love him again, he wishes that it would get better like he's sure everyone will tell him. He hopes for so many things but wishful thinking won't bring him back.

The alcohol starts to make his head pound, and he feels sick to his stomach. It's all catching up to him in that one moment and for a split second, he wishes he dropped that match because everything just feels wrong. The throbbing just gets worse and worse, and he's clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth just to stop the pounding of his mind - just so he could think and collect himself. He wants to cry, he wants to scream and yell and shout, he wants to do something to get all his emotions out, but he passes out in his chair before he could even do a thing.

Dutch didn't think he could feel any worse the previous night, but clearly, he was mistaken because when he opens his eyes the next day, all he feels is pain. He feels sick to his stomach, but this time he knows he can't hold it down. He stumbles out the tent, almost falling over as the blood rushes around his body that has barely moved for two days. He tries to get as far away from everyone else's tents and makes it a decent way away before he's doubling over, falling to his knees as he heaves up all the alcohol into the ground.

He stays there until he's stopped heaving, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against his forearm as he inhales shaky breaths. The fresh air makes him feel just that little bit better, helping to reduce the ache in his head, and the racing of his mind. A hand on his back makes him jump, and he looks up to see Arthur crouching down next to him, with that soft, sad, look in his eye. The movement heightens the pain in his head, so he quickly reverts back to what he was doing before, his eyes closing once again as the perhaps first genuine small smile that he's felt finds its way to his lips.

"Hey Arthur," Dutch says, his voice sounding as bad as he felt as it only came out as a croak, grimacing as the taste of bile is still on his tongue.

"You alright?" Arthur replies, and Dutch has half a mind to scoff, to tell him the obvious truth that no, he's not alright. How could he be alright when the man he loved was dead all because he couldn't save him? But instead, he fights back the tears that make their way to his eyes, because he has never cried in front of Arthur and has no intention of starting that now, and he lies.

"Yeah, I'm okay. J- just-"

"Had a bit too much to drink?" Arthur buts in, "yeah I can tell. Dutch you look terrible."

"Thanks for the compliment, Arthur," Dutch says with a quiet laugh, "here, help me up."

"Wasn't meaning it like _that_ Dutch," Arthur grumbles under his breath, grabbing Dutch's arms as he helped him get to his feet.

He sways slightly, feeling Arthur's hands around his biceps tighten slightly as his legs threatened to give out under him. Dutch wants to push Arthur's hands away, wants to tell him that he can stand just fine on his own, wants to tell him that everything will ok, that there will be better days coming. He so desperately needs to be the leader that the gang, that Arthur, deserves but he just can't help but feel like he's starting to unravel.

Instead, he places one of his hands on top of the one on his arm and grips it tightly. He feels Arthur's hand squeeze his own, and Dutch forces himself to look at the other man and is met with a small sad smile that he can't help but mirror. Dutch pats Arthur's hand and they both let go, Arthur still keeping a close eye on him just in case, and Dutch knows that he should hate it, he knows that he shouldn't be seen weak in front of anyone, let alone Arthur, but he can't help it. 

He turns to face Arthur, and his heart... _hurts._

He reminded him so much of Hosea. Arthur had so many mannerisms that he got from him, and there was a little running joke between Dutch and Hosea that Arthur got all his good qualities like his generosity and his willingness to learn, from Hosea and his bad ones, like his stubbornness and temper, from Dutch. At the time it made them both laugh but now when Dutch can see it so clearly in front of him, it no longer brings a smile to his face.

Dutch clasps a hand on Arthur's shoulder, and wants to but a voice to his thoughts, but the words don't form and the time passes, so he forces a smile and says softly, "let's go back."

Arthur looks like he wanted to say something as well, but he doesn't, instead nodding his head and leading the way.

"You need to eat, Dutch," Arthur eventually says on their way back, "you ain't had anything for a few days."

Even thinking about food makes his stomach tie up in knots, but he swallows thickly and nods his head, "I'll try my best, Arthur."

It's not long before they reach the tents, and either everyone is still asleep, or they're all in their tents because the camp is silent when they come back. But then again that's all the camp has been since Hosea died. It's both a blessing and a curse because one time Dutch might have revelled in the quietness of the camp, but now, more than ever, he needs to hear everyone talking and yelling just so he can get some sort of sense of normality back.

"You can go back to your tent, I'll bring you some of Pearson's stew," Arthur tells him with a pat to his back, heading towards the stew pot before Dutch can even open his mouth to object.

He chuckles and shakes his head as he heads to his tent. Arthur was a good man, a better man than he could ever be, and there wasn't a single day where he could forget it. He sits back in the same chair that he's found himself cemented in for the past two days. All he could smell was alcohol and smoke and he instantly finds himself missing the fresh air.

Arthur is back sooner than Dutch thought he would, a bowl of Pearson's stew in his hands, he goes to hand it to Dutch, but Dutch stops him.

"Have _you_ eaten today, son?"

Arthur nods his head but Dutch knows he's lying, he can see it in his eyes. He raises an eyebrow, and at least Arthur had the gall to look away sheepishly. He always was such a bad liar, especially when it came to Dutch.

"Ain't really been that hungry, I- I've had a lot on my mind."

"I think we all have, Arthur. You need to eat, son."

"So do you," Arthur says, indignantly, his head snapping up with his brows furrowed and a frown on his face.

Dutch's brows raise once again, taken aback by Arthur's outburst. If this were any other day Dutch would have probably been angered by it, but it was understandable. Hosea's death hit Dutch hard, but he knew it hit Arthur just as hard.

"Sorry," Arthur mumbles, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck with his free hand as he fails to make eye contact with Dutch.

"It's okay, Arthur."

Arthur places the stew on the side, leaving it for later, and sits down on Dutch's bed. He takes off his hat, sighing as he ran his fingers through his unruly hair, hunching over, leaning his forearms on his legs. He stares at the ground by Dutch's feet, wringing his hands together, trying to word his thoughts.

"It just ain't the same without him, Dutch," Arthur finally says.

Dutch exhaled a quiet breath, his eyes almost boring a hole into the fabric of his tent as he mulls over Arthur's words. He doesn't reply; doesn't know if he could.

"It just... don't feel _right_."

Dutch swallows thickly, as he changes his focus to Arthur.

"We- we buried him not too far away, it would only take a few minutes on horseback if you... y'know..." Arthur trails away, picking away at a bit of skin on the back of his hand.

"If I wanted to see him?" Dutch says, surprised at how solid his voice sounded.

Arthur nods, finally looking up at him.

"Can you take me there?"

"Now?"

Dutch shakes his head, "tomorrow. I need some more time to think about... about _everything_."

Arthur nods his head again, picking his hat back up and placing it on his head again as he stands up. 

"I'll go see if there's anything that needs doing around camp," he says.

Dutch smiles, and this time it's filled with nothing but pride.

"You're a good man, Arthur Morgan."

"Learnt it from the best."

Both men knew that he wasn't talking about Dutch. 

Arthur turns to leave before either of them dwell on it, "make sure you eat something, old man."

"You're one to talk, son."

Dutch hears Arthur chuckle before the tent flap closes behind him and Dutch is left alone once again.

The next morning arrives faster than Dutch wanted it to. He managed to eat most of the stew before getting a few hours of sleep, although not nearly enough for what he needed, and when the birds tweet and sing Dutch finds dread building up inside him. He wants to say goodbye, but at the same time he's found himself so pleasantly wrapped up in his little lie, and he knows that if he sees Hosea's grave then everything will become so hauntingly real.

He knows that he's up before Arthur is; he relishes in the minutes alone more than he thought he would. It feels so surreal like it was like he was in a book, not real life because this is Hosea, this is the smartest person he knows who has cheated death more times than he can count, and this isn't how Hosea's story was meant to end.

But it was.

He gets up suddenly, unable to bear the burning of his thoughts and heads to Arthur's tent. He feels slightly bad waking up Arthur so early when he knows that Arthur needed the rest, but Arthur's eyes are, albeit sleep dazed but, understanding as he wakes himself up. Dutch turns around as he lets Arthur get ready, leaning against a wagon with his arms crossed and head tilted down. He silently begs Arthur to take his time because with the realisation that he's going to see Hosea's grave: the grave of the man that he knew and loved for over twenty years.

But Arthur's gruff voice is calling out for him far soon than he would have liked it to.

"Let's go, Dutch, it ain't far from here."

Dutch exhales a breath that he didn't even know he was holding and nods his head. Dutch tries to focus on anything on the horse ride over to Hosea's grave. From the cold chill of the wind, and the sound of the dirt crunching beneath the horse's hooves, and the feeling of the reigns in his hands, just anything to take his mind away from the fact that he's getting closer and closer and closer to it: to him... or what was him, because Dutch tries so hard to remember that Hosea is gone.

"You alright over there?" Arthur asks, "you're being mighty quiet."

"Just taking in the scenery, my boy. It's a beautiful world we live in."

"That it is."

Dutch allows a small smile to make its way on his face. He knew how much Arthur loved nature, and there has been more than one occasion where Dutch had caught him scribbling down quick drawings of all the animals he saw in the journal that he and Hosea bought him when he was just a young teen. Arthur always seemed to struggle concentrating on anything but when given a pencil and paper he could stay there for hours, writing down his thoughts, drawing anything and everything. It was Hosea's idea to get him the journal, and at first, Dutch will admit that he was slightly reluctant to believe that it would help, but it did. It made Arthur happy, and in the end that was all either of those two wanted. Dutch remembered one time when Arthur sat for nearly a whole day sketching The Count, making sure that he got everything perfectly right, and that one time when Arthur thought he lost his journal and, whilst he denies it vehemently, Dutch swears Arthur was about to _cry_. Dutch had never in his life so vigorously searched for anything as much as he did for Arthur's notebook that night.

He still remembers Arthur's smile when he handed it to him a few days later. Arthur hugged him so tightly that Dutch thought his ribs would break, and when Dutch looked over Arthur's shoulder and saw Hosea standing there, a smile so wide on his face that his eyes were crinkled, Dutch had never felt happier. Later that night Hosea told Dutch just how proud he was of him for finding that journal for Arthur, for making Arthur happy. Dutch shrugged it off but he could never forget Hosea's prideful grin. It makes his heart race and sparks fly in his stomach and Dutch had never felt so in love.

"We're here," Arthur says, his voice solemn, as he slows down his horse.

Dutch stops his horse next to Arthur's and follows his eyes down to a grave. It felt like all happiness had been sucked from him and all that was left was misery that he was embedded in. He feels Arthur's eyes burning into the side of his head but he can't look back at him. It's all too real and it feels like his life is being ended all over again.

"Arthur?"

"Yes, Dutch?"

"Do you- do you mind leaving me here, alone, for a bit?" Dutch asks, still not taking his eyes off of Hosea's grave.

Silence and then a quiet, "sure, Dutch. I'll see you back at camp."

Dutch solemnly nods his head, not trusting himself to speak. When he's sure Arthur is a safe way away, he slides off his horse, knees almost buckling out from underneath him when he hits the ground. His legs shake more and more with every step that he takes closer until he stands at the foot of his grave. He is not surprised when his legs finally give out, and he comes crashing down to his knees, and yet he stays silent.

Dutch thinks, and whilst thinking is not his strong point, he takes a moment to fully realise the true extent of what he was seeing, to think about just what is going to happen to the gang, to Arthur, to him, without Hosea there. 

In the end, what has a man other than his thoughts?

Dutch remembers reading that line back at camp in a book he struggled to put down. It resonated deeply with him, and at this moment, one thing sticks out in his memory. When he read it for the first time, all those many months ago, it enthralled him; it was a thing that he could still recite word by word, and he mumbles it out loud under his breath.

"The glory is in death. Yes, of course, in life, and but also in death. I realise that idea is abhorrent. I realise it is vulgar and distasteful, I realise it is perverse. But it is also the truth."

Dutch allowed himself to believe it at one point, but not anymore.

There was no glory in Hosea's death. Just the ending of, not only one, life, but the ending of his life as well. Dutch will die, Arthur too, and John, and Jack, Abigail, Charles, Javier, Susan, Karen, Molly, they will all die, and the memory of Hosea will die with them. There is no glory in that.

His vision blurs.

He stares down at his hands, can't miss how they shake, and clenches his fists so tight that his nails dig into his palms.

"God Hosea," Dutch starts, not even knowing what to say. He looks around, trying to focus on anything else but Hosea's name neatly scratched on the wooden cross.

"It- it feels so goddamn _wrong_ without you here."

The birds tweet in the trees surrounding him but it does nothing but anger him, because how could they be so happy, so carefree, whilst Dutch's life lays broken and dead and rotting in the ground.

"Life was finally starting to go our way."

It was a lie, and Dutch knew it. Life would never get easy for people like them, criminals, outlaws, murderers, like them. It just wasn't how those fairy tales went.

"Now, days, they've been better. And I know... I hope, that there will be better days coming but without you here that's just... that's just wishful thinking."

He finally forces himself to look at Hosea's grave, tears flowing freely down his face. He hasn't cried in so long, but now it's all he wants to do.

"I love you so much, Hosea. And- and I _wish_ I could tell you just one last time."

His body trembled and his throat tightens as he inhales a sharp breath. His bottom lip started to quiver and he sniffles quietly, trying to find the unspoken words that he wanted to say.

"I just," Dutch starts, his voice cracking as he spoke. He inhaled a shaky breath, trying to calm himself, but it was too late. Tears spilt over and flowed freely down his face, a sob forces its way through his chest and he doesn't have the power to hold it back.

"I miss you so goddamn much."

And then through and through he comes undone. Sobs wrack his body as he hunches over. 

"Please come back, please. I need you, Hosea, I need you so damn much."

This is so uncharacteristically Dutch, that if someone were to see him now, he'd never live it down. Dutch doesn't cry. He doesn't sob. He doesn't beg.

But he does when it comes to Hosea.

When it comes to Hosea, Dutch cries and he sobs and he begs until his throat is raw and his face is stained with tears. When it comes to Hosea, Dutch would do goddamn anything to have him back, he'd surrender his heart, surrender himself, his mind, his body, his everything. He'd surrender it all in a heartbeat, because what use is his everything if he cannot give it to Hosea?

Minutes pass, or maybe hours, Dutch doesn't know, doesn't care, but forcing himself to leave Hosea's grave is harder than he ever thought it could be. But this time he says goodbye, and it hurts just as much. The Count whinnies when Dutch nears, and he pets him gently, praising him for being so good to Dutch. He had become so hyper-aware of all the things that he loved over the past few days, suddenly finding so much gratitude from everything little thing, but it's bittersweet, and he just wishes that it wouldn't have come from the expense of Hosea.

The ride is short, too short for him to stop himself from looking so dishevelled, and when he finally reaches camp again Arthur is making his way over to where the horses are hitched.

"Dutch," Arthur says once Dutch dismounted his horse, "was just about to come get you. You alright?"

Dutch nods his head but doesn't say anything, not trusting his voice to break. His head is down, not making eye contact with Arthur, his hat tilted down low, as he trudges past, heading to his tent. He hadn't expected Arthur to follow and jumps when a hand clasps on his shoulder. His head shoots up before he can think, seeing Arthur with that same grieving look in his eyes. Arthur seems slightly taken aback when Dutch looks up at him, and if this were any other time and place he might have laughed. 

" _Dutch_ -"

"I think I need some time alone, Arthur." Dutch interrupts, his voice strained.

"We- we need to talk, Dutch."

"About what?"

"About all this-" Arthur says gesturing with his hands, "-about everything, about... about Hosea."

Arthur's voice turns soft at the mention of his name and Dutch struggles to swallow past the lump in his throat. He nods his head and the two head back to his tent. The air is thick, and Dutch wracks his brains to think of anything to say to break some of the tension, but nothing comes to mind, and it only gets more awkward.

Thankfully Arthur breaks the silence.

"W- what are we gonna do without him, Dutch?"

Suddenly Dutch finds himself wishing that Arthur had stayed silent.

"I don't know, son."

"We're gonna need to keep moving, Dutch. Otherwise _more_ people'll end up like-" Arthur cuts himself off.

"Let's just give everyone a few days to grieve. I think... I think we both need the time."

Arthur nods his head, swallowing thickly.

There's a moment of silence before Dutch speaks suddenly.

"Do you remember that time when we went fishing, just the three of us together."

Arthur looks confused at the abruptness of his question, but doesn't ask any of his own, instead saying, "we've been fishing lots of times, Dutch."

Dutch lets out a small chuckle, "I was talking about that one time after you helped to capture that criminal on that train, and we saved Trelawny's ass from the law."

Arthur laughs quietly, "I remember now."

"Do you-" Dutch pauses midsentence, wringing his hands, looking down at the floor, as he tries to think what to say, "-do you remember what I said to you two after we came back to camp?"

Arthur's brow furrows, and he frowns as he tries to remember.

He shakes his head, "no, I don't think I do."

"I said that I always know whenever I got you two by my side things are gonna be just fine."

Dutch looks at Arthur with his bloodshot eyes, trying to control how his hands shake with even the thought of not having Hosea together with him.

"And now, "Dutch continues, "now it's just you that I have by my side."

"Dutch, you- you got everyone here at camp."

"I know that son, I know that but I don't have everyone in the sense that I have you because you... you mean the _world_ to me, Arthur. Hosea's death hit us both hard, and in the time that I've had to think, I've realised how little I told Hosea how much he meant to me, and I know that I'm gonna have to live with that regret for the rest of my life-"

"Dutch-"

Dutch holds his hand up, "please let me finish, Arthur."

Arthur frowns but stays quiet.

"And now you know that I would lay my life down for anyone in this camp, but you Arthur? They are nothing compared to you because I love you so, so, much. And I know... I know I don't say it nearly enough, and I just couldn't bear the thought of you dying and not knowing how much you meant to me. And I just... I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's just you and me now, against the world, and the rest of the camp, they- they're family, and I care for them deeply, but they ain't you, they ain't Hosea, and if I had to choose between you and the rest of the camp, don't doubt for a second that I would choose anyone but you, because you... you're my son, Arthur."

Arthur looks up at him with watery eyes, and Dutch doesn't even have time to react before Arthur is surging forward, wrapping his arms around Dutch's shoulders. It was so uncharacteristically Arthur that at first Dutch doesn't even know what to do. Dutch wraps his arms around Arthur when he feels wetness seep into his shirt, realising that Arthur himself was crying. Dutch puts a hand on the back of Arthur's head and shushes him quietly.

"I'm so proud of you, Arthur, so, so, proud, and Hosea was too."

That just makes Arthur cry harder, curling his fists into the fabric of Dutch's shirt, burying his face into the crook of Dutch's neck.

"We'll be okay," Dutch says, his voice soft.

"Will we?"

"Yes, we will, son. We might not be the same... but we'll be okay."

"How can you be so sure?"

"We _need_ to. For Hosea."


End file.
